


never change (that's a promise)

by areyouevenrealbro



Series: loyalty [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Bikers, M/M, Not sure if I should continue this, Rule 63, biker!auston, light Violence, mitch is Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouevenrealbro/pseuds/areyouevenrealbro
Summary: mitch isn’t wearing a pink poodle skirt, but she may as well be with the way that every person in the bar turns to look at her when she pushes the tinted glass door open.(or, mitch runs, smokes a cigarette, and runs some more.)





	never change (that's a promise)

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's been literally forever my b LOL  
> honestly, i've been trying to write this for forever, but i need to know if you guys like this verse to see if it's even worth continuing. I Crave Your Validation
> 
> please please please comment with your thoughts, i'd love to hear whatever you're thinking!!
> 
> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS AT END

Mitch isn’t wearing a pink poodle skirt, but she may as well be with the way that every person in the bar turns to look at her when she pushes the tinted glass door open. The only sound comes from the clink of glasses for drinks that the bartender is making for a few moments. After a few uncomfortable heartbeats, chatter starts up once more and people seem to turn back to their tables, bored with the newcomer.

Mitch isn’t insecure by any means, but she’s still grateful that they don’t find her worthy of more than a few moments of their attention.

In the time it takes her to get to an empty seat at the bar, it’s become clear why she was such a divertissement. It’s a biker’s bar; her hair clips and yellow tank top don’t really fit in with the leather and chain aesthetic that seems to be going on. A man at the table to the left of her seat grinds the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray; when he sees her looking, he offers only a nod.

The bartender sets a water in front of her with a smile before sliding back to the other end of the bar to continue his conversation with a middle aged couple in matching leather vests. Their laughter makes Mitch smile, too; it’s infectious. 

The room is small, and the conversations are intimate. The stereo is playing something slow and drum heavy. Smoke seems to cling to the air; she’s almost choking on the thick of it. Low chatter fills the air. A few people are playing pool at the table in the back of the bar, under a glowing neon sign. They look moments from breaking into a brawl, but the people around them don’t seem alarmed.

It feels more like home than anywhere she’s ever been.

Her skin prickles as someone slides into the seat next to her. She looks up and offers the man a small smile, but turns back to her water. He looks just as out of place as her, in regular blue jeans and a button down tee. He has a beige cardigan tied around his shoulders that almost makes her laugh out loud. He snaps twice to get the bartender’s attention, ignoring the looks that surrounding patrons shoot him. 

Mitch’s mouth pinches. There’s nothing she hates more than someone that doesn’t know how to offer basic respect.

“Strawberry margarita, on the rocks,” he says, short. “Two. One for me, and one for her.”

Mitch’s jaw doesn’t drop at the shit eating grin he gives her, but it’s a close thing. “I don’t-no. None for me,” she finds her voice, but it’s clipped. 

The bartender raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. He taps the counter twice. “One margarita, coming up.”

The man’s eyebrows are furrowed, but he stays quiet until the bartender sets his drink in front of him and slides away. Mitch appreciates the way he angles his body toward her once he reaches the other end of the bar. It’s nothing obvious, but it soothes the anxiety spiking in her chest

“It’s a free drink,” he carps. “The nice thing to do would be to accept it.”

Oh boy. “I don’t know you,” Mitch starts. It’s unbelievable that she has to explain this to a man who hasn’t even introduced himself. “And I have to drive later. So.”

“Oh?” He sees his opening. “I’m on the road, too, just pulled over for a drink. Where are you heading?”

“You’re going to drink and drive?” Mitch wrinkles her nose. The man opens his mouth to respond and Mitch sees her mistake. “Don’t answer that, I wasn’t actually asking.”

The bartender and the couple laugh from across the room. It makes the corner of Mitch’s lip curl. 

Unfortunately, the man hears it too. His expression darkens.

“That’s funny?”

Oh.

Mitch isn’t laughing anymore. He seems to loom, larger than life at her side. She tries to fight the way that her shoulders shrink, but the response is automatic; not much she can do to help it.

The silence seems to stretch, right up until he stands. It’s explosive, and the sound of his chair screeching back stops time; the chatter stops, and it feels like every eye is now trained on the two of them. Mitch doesn’t look up. Her cheeks are flush with embarrassment at the weight of so many stares on her. _Should’ve just taken the drink,_ she sighs inwardly.

“Kind of a bitch move, isn’t it?” His tone is frigid, and he’s standing close enough that Mitch can feel his body heat rolling off of him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s laughing at the juxtaposition. “I mean, I’m just trying to be nice and you’re over here _laughing_ at me?”

“I’m not-”

“You _are_ ,” he snarls. His hand comes down heavy next to her water; not heavy enough to shake the counter, but hard enough that she flinches.

A few things happen all at once.

First: Mitch has to blink back the tears welling up in her eyes. She’s not weak; she’s not delicate. She hasn’t been either of those things in a long, long time. She grew up fast, she grew up taking care of herself. She knows she’s handled worse.

And, yet, here come the waterworks.

Second: she distantly notices the way that everyone in the bar gets to their feet at once. The bartender is standing up a little straighter, no longer leaning against the bartop. The couple is staring stonefaced at the two of them; at Mitch hoping that the floor would swallow her up. The sounds of leather on leather and chains rattling breaks the silence for only a few moments; Mitch thinks she could hear a pin drop.

Third: no one moves.

It’s almost eerily still. The man doesn’t move. It’s like he realized his mistake-making a fuss in a bar full of bikers that are both bigger and meaner than him-but none of the bikers move either. It’s a little like time has stopped once more. 

Mitch has only been here for twenty minutes tops, but she wonders if when she leaves, she’ll walk outside to find that a few months have passed.

It’s thick and still right up until a door slams closed.

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?” The voice is like honey and gravel; intoxicatingly sweet, with a little bite to it. It’s a woman, judging by the pitch of her voice. Mitch wants to turn and face her, but she’s frozen in her seat.

“None of your business,” the guy spits over his shoulder. His hand is resting on the back of Mitch’s chair now. Awesome. “Run alon-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before his body is forced backwards by a small, manicured hand wound tightly in his hair. Mitch tracks the movement, turning when he exits her peripheral vision; one second he’s a menacing shape hanging over her shoulder, the next, he’s on his knees staring slackjaw up at the woman. 

Her hair hangs long and dark down her back, half up and half down, a slight curl to the unruly locks. She’s in all black, from her leather jacket down to her black steel-toed boots. Mitch thinks, absently, that she looks like someone who has looked death in the face and told him she’d see him soon. She’s also beating the _fuck_ out of the guy. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Mitch gasps, unsure of what to do. She wants to reach out, to stop her, but a small part of her also wants to let her go. And, fuck, she’s really going for it. The flex of her biceps makes Mitch’s mouth water, just a little.

No one else seems to be alarmed by it. In fact, some have already dropped back into their seats, turning back to their drinks. Others are looking on, enjoying the show, making no attempts to intervene. Mitch’s hand hovers, unsure of if touching her would cause her to whirl on Mitch.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have to.

“ _Auston,_ ” a man’s voice rings out. When Mitch looks toward where the sound had come from, she recognizes him as one of the people that had sat down at the beginning of all this. He has a kind face, she thinks. If she was naive, she might have called his expression paternal. “That’s enough.”

Auston drops him back on the floor. She shakes out her fist, flexing her grip, but ultimately says nothing. The man is groaning from where he lays, spitting garbled insults at her. There’s enough blood on his face that Mitch can’t tell where exactly he’s bleeding from.

He struggles to sit up, but Auston stops him with a single boot grinding into his chest.

Mitch is...so gay.

The bartender thumps a shot of something clear and strong, judging by the smell, down onto the bar next to her. Mitch thinks it’s for her, right up until he throws a wet washcloth and ice pack down next to it. He swans off, sparing a small nod at Mitch, but keeping an eye trained on Auston.

For someone that was defending her honor just a few minutes ago, Auston didn’t seem all that interested in checking on Mitch. Mitch gets it, she thinks. Her bruising hand seems to take up most of her attention, once she throws the shot back. Her face is set into a stormy grimace as she dabs gently at the enlarged knuckles on her right hand with the cloth; Mitch winces in sympathy as the split skin of her hand becomes visible behind the blood.

Fuck it. “Here,” she breaks her silence, setting a hand, gentle and slow, on Auston’s forearm. “Sit. I’ll help.”

Auston blinks with what might be surprise. “I’m fine.” It’s the first thing she’s said to her.

“Uh,” she says. “Okay. But I’m still going to help you.”

“I don’t ne-”

“I said _sit_ ,” Mitch snaps. Her adrenaline is starting to fade, _quickly_ , leaving just intense jitters and an incessant need to do _something_ in its place. To her surprise, Auston does.

She hands over the rag and lets Mitch dab at her knuckles gently, not flinching even when mitch brushes over the lacerations. It’s making Mitch a little nauseous, but she powers through. It’s the least she can do.

“Thank you,” Mitch says finally, half to fill the silence. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if-”

“You’re welcome,” Auston’s voice is gruff. They both stare pointedly at her hand, too uncomfortable to meet each other’s eyes.

“I’m Mitch,” she offers.

“Auston.”

“Cool.”

They fall back into stilted silence. It’s not that Mitch is intimidated, exactly, but she’s not particularly at ease either. Auston looks like she could eat Mitch and her ripped skinny jeans for breakfast; she’s every bit of the badass Mitch wishes she could be. 

“You’re not from around here.” It’s not a question.

“What?” Mitch glances up.

“You’re not from around here,” Auston repeats.

“No I-I heard what you said, I just,” she stutters. “How do you know?”

Auston glances down at her pastel yellow tank top pointedly; Mitch blushes. She probably should’ve expected that one.

“You’re right,” she smiled, tight. “I’m just passing through.”

“Where are you going?”

Mitch shrugs. “Not sure yet. I’ll figure it out”

Auston’s eyes narrow; her gaze makes Mitch squirm in her seat. It feels a little like she can see right through her carefully curated facade. It’s not bad; it’s not good, either.

“Come on,” she says finally. Her hand slips out of Mitch’s grasp. “Smoke break.”

She slides out of the chair and steps carefully over the body still on the floor; Mitch scrambles to follow.

“Is he dead?” She says, hushed.

Auston tosses a glance at him. “Hopefully.”

***

A breeze filters through the trees outside. There isn’t a soul on the road, and the sun beats down over them. A long line of motorcycles trim the front of the bar. Mitch’s own blue Fiat sits in the far corner of the lot. Mitch could leave now; get in her car and watch this place get smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror until everything that happened today is just a hazy memory.

She follows Auston around the side of the building.

She’s already lighting her cigarette. Mitch can’t help but glance at her fingers; at her manicure. It takes everything in her not to burst out laughing.

“Nice nails,” she says, voice strained from effort. Auston glances down at her hand, cigarette still in her mouth; all of them are long and stiletto shaped, painted a cherry red, with the exception of her index and middle fingers on her right hand. They’re the same color, but they’re snipped short, right to the quick.

She smiles, blowing smoke from her nose. “Thanks.”

For a while, the only sounds are from the breeze and the crickets. The smell of perfume and smoke smooths what feels like a sharp edge in Mitch’s chest. Auston smells like something earthy and sharp, rich and intoxicating. Mitch wraps her arms around her torso and inhales as much as she can without being too obvious.

“Where are you from?” Auston breaks the silence.

It catches Mitch off guard. “Oh,” she says. “Um-Toronto. I’m Canadian.”

Auston cuts her eyes in her direction for a moment, but focuses back on flicking the ash off her cigarette just as quickly. “Long way from home,” she notes. It’s a statement, but the question is in the way she says _home._

“It’s not much of a home,” Mitch stares at the cigarette as well. The red flame at the end of it is almost hypnotic. “I needed a change of scenery.”

Auston hums. She must see the way she’s looking at her cigarette, though, because she asks, “you want one?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’ve never-I don’t know how to-” Mitch stutters.

“It’s not hard.” There’s something like amusement in Auston’s voice. “Here.”

She shakes off the ash that had accumulated on her Marlboro and offers it to her.

Mitch flushes when she realizes that the hand she puts out to take it is shaking.

“In your mouth,” Auston says, voice dropping into something much softer. It sends shivers down Mitch’s spine. “Go on.”

She steps in close once Mitch does it, close enough that they’re pressed together nearly from chest to thigh. One of Auston’s hands comes to rest on the wall next to her head, forcing her back flat to the scratchy brick exterior of the building. The look in Auston’s eye when she parts her lips for her cigarette makes her breath catch in her throat. 

“Breathe in,” she whispers into the limited space between them. Mitch does, obedient.

She doesn’t cough at the harsh burn, but it’s a close thing. Auston plucks the cigarette from between her lips, offering her an opportunity to exhale. It makes the air between them hazy, and Mitch can’t tell if it’s the nicotine or the way Auston brushes a strand of hair out of her face that makes her dizzy.

“Good,” Auston breathes, and oh, _fuck,_ this is-

“Auston,” a voice comes, stern, from down the alley. Mitch jumps like she’s been burnt, but Auston just takes a calm step back. There’s a broad man standing a few feet away. His hair is a fiery red, and his eyes are hidden by a pair of black sunglasses. He wears the same patterned leather vest as Auston. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m coming,” she calls. “Give me a second.”

Mitch feels her heart crack, just a little bit. It’s not that she didn’t know that Auston would have to leave eventually, it’s just-she thought she’d have more time. She’s intrigued by her everything, and it feels like something important is slipping out from between her fingers.

“I’ve got to go,” Auston says. She can hear barely hear the bikes roaring to life over the ringing in her ears.

“I heard,” Mitch says.

They don’t say anything for a few moments; just stand there and stare at each other. Mitch has her arms crossed over her chest again; she doesn’t remember doing it. Auston is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth; the feeling that she’s looking straight through Mitch is back.

“You said you were just passing through,” Auston says, finally.

Mitch sucks in a harsh breath. “Yes.”

“And that you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Yes,” she says again, quieter than before. _Please,_ she thinks.

Auston nods, slow. The way the wind moves through her hair makes something pang in her gut. Mitch never wants to stop looking at her.

Auston holds a hand out, palm up. Mitch’s eyes drop to it.

“Come with me,” she whispers, her voice an undertone.

Mitch keeps looking. Auston looks right back.

Mitch thinks about all the events that led her to this point; driving the Fiat over the border into New York; sleeping in her car more times than she’d been comfortable with; the sting of her father’s fist on her face; her mother watching on with a glass of wine, like it was some daytime television soap opera.

She thinks about her plan. Get out of Toronto, get out of Canada, make it to Los Angeles, and never go back. It had all felt so simple before; her plan was what kept her sane on the open roads, under a sky of a million stars. It was the mantra she repeated when the universe felt too big and she felt too small, too lonely, too insignificant.

This is fucking crazy. She’s not stupid; she knows that going with Auston would be incredibly dangerous. She’s still a stranger; one that Mitch had watched beat the shit out of a guy only thirty minutes prior. She can see the Fiat from here; what was once a shiny paint job is now dull and dusty. The last sixty miles or so had been made on worn-down wheels. There wasn’t a lot left in her. Going with her would be fucking insane.

Mitch places her hand in Auston’s.

**Author's Note:**

> -a character is harassed by a male OC who is very hostile  
> -hostile male OC is met with intense, but not graphically depicted, violence  
> -what could be peer pressure into smoking a cigarette if you squint and tilt your head a little  
> -brief touch on topic of child abuse  
> let me know if i'm forgetting anything!
> 
> please remember to leave me a comment if you enjoyed; if i get enough feedback, i'll make this a series!!
> 
> find me on tumblr at: @ohmymarnthews


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